Waves
by Schildkroete
Summary: Claire doesn't want the old Charlie around anymore, but she can't get used to the new one when she stumbles over him at the beach. Locke and Sawyer do not help the situation. Definitely NOT romantic.


First Lost-fic, and I will probably take it down pretty soon, because honestly: it sucks.

Anyway, while I love slash, and I especially love Sawyer/Charlie, this isn't slashy in any way – unless, of course, you want it to be. Or better put: it would be slashy, if I told you the background story I had in mind. Which I won't, so that's not the point here.

Another thing: I do not like Claire very much (friendly put) and though I used to like Locke in the first season I want to kick him into space right now, so fans of these two characters might not like this story.

Oh, and I had trouble with the language again, because English is something I learned in school.

Waves

By Schildkroete

Claire only saw him when she had come too close already, a dozen meters perhaps, not more – in the direction she came from he was hidden from view by the trees that dared to grow a little closer to the ocean than the rest of their kind. She had come to this off-set, deserted part of the beach to take a little walk with her baby and think about nothing and found him sitting beneath a tree facing the sea, the one person she most wanted to not think about. He must have been watching the ocean but now he was watching her, and by the way he looked at her she could tell that he had seen her at long time before she had seen him. It made her angry. Why hadn't he said anything? Why hadn't he just left? Why didn't he say anything now? Because he didn't, only staring at her in silence and there was something in his gaze that bothered Claire, that brought back memories of the way people had looked at her back at home, when they heard she was going to give her baby away. It was a judging gaze, too calm to be accusing but far from guilty. It wasn't the way, she knew, he should have looked at her at all.

"Charlie," she finally said, the name tasting wired on her tongue. "Go away."

He raised his eyebrows at her and Claire's annoyance won over the uneasy feeling that was nagging at the edge of her consciousness. He didn't have the right to raise his eyebrows at her, and he wasn't supposed to. In fact, he was supposed to adore her, to be full of guilt and apologizes and shame, not to look at her in a way that made her think of Sawyer and the way he used to look at people that amused him.

"Why?" Charlie wanted to know and in his voice she found all the things she had seen in his eyes, and it bothered her.

"Because I can't stand your presence," she snapped. In her arms, Aaron started to squirm.

"Sorry to break it to you, but I was here first," Charlie said matter-of-factly and apparently without any intention of standing up, least leaving. It was a stupid argument and Claire would not have it.

"Leave!" she commanded, with more anger in her voice than she had intended. His behaviour made no sense to her – it was confusing and infuriating and her baby was drooling into her shirt. She would have liked to sit down for a moment.

Still, Charlie remained calm, indifferent. "If you want to be rid of me, walk off yourself." And he made a generous gesture that said: 'There is plenty of empty, unoccupied beach in each direction. Feel free to use it.' The waves were crashing onto the shore, taking away the sand and bringing it back, over and over. It was the same water that crashed onto the shores of Australia, half a world away. On this particular shore Claire stood with her son in her arms and didn't know what to say. Because she knew he was right – he had been here before her and she hadn't even planed to stop at this spot and could go everywhere else if she didn't want him near – but at the same time she felt that he did not have the right to talk to her like that, to treat her like she was just any person to him and he still had the same rights as everyone else, after all he did. She could not simply turn around and let him get away with it. She couldn't.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Aaron started to giggle and squirm even more. He sounded happy. Claire had not seen him this happy in weeks.

She looked down and saw that his gaze was fixated on Charlie, and it was just another thing that made no sense to her. Wasn't he too young to recognize people? Wasn't he too young to miss anyone, or be happy when they were back? Wasn't he too young to adopt anyone as his daddy? It just wasn't fair – he should have forgotten Charlie the moment he went out of sight. He wasn't anyone she wanted her little baby to like.

When she turned her gaze from Aaron to Charlie she saw that his mask of indifference had fallen away, and he was smiling, a thin smile but a honest one that made him look like the old Charlie, the one that had once come to her with a glass full of nothing, and made it the best peanut-butter she'd ever tasted. When she looked closer she noticed that there was an edge to that smile, a sadness that broke her heart for more than one reason. It wasn't for her.

The junkie lifted his hand to wave at the child and Aaron, seeing this, laughed his cute little baby laugh. Something inside Claire snapped and her anger rose with the waves that were slowly creeping higher and higher up the shore. She turned away, so that her son was facing the sea. Immediately, the laughing stopped. After a moment, he began to cry.

_Now see what you did!_ Claire wanted to say, while she made little shooting noises at her baby. _Why do you always have to hurt us? It's your fault._ But she stayed silent, only casting an angry glare in Charlie's direction, because she new what he would have said in response and didn't want to hear it. Finally Aaron calmed down a bit, but his good mood was gone and his mother was bothered by the knowledge that all she'd have to do to make him smile again was turn around. She didn't.

She cast another look over her shoulder instead and saw him sitting there, leaning his back against a tree the same way he had all the time, and there was a shadow in his eyes that had not been there a moment before. He had no place here and yet he stayed. Somehow, Claire felt like she was loosing a war.

"Just leave, okay, Charlie?" she said, feeling anger and confusion and things she had no name for. "I told you I don't want you anywhere near me or my baby anymore." There was a catch before the last word, a hesitation before she added it, almost too brief to notice but she, herself, noticed it, felt her tongue stumble over the syllables. The past was washing onto the shore with the waves that carried the water of a thousand oceans onto this tiny piece of land.

Charlie just looked at her for another second, his eyes too dark, too deep for the boy she remembered and there was no anger on his face, no hurt, just a sort of faintly amused curiosity. He suddenly leaned forward, looking left and right, even into the shadowed area of the trees behind him, and Claire found her eyes following his gaze, wondering what he was looking for. She listened carefully and all she heard was the wind.

"Funny", Charlie said. "I just can't seem to find it."

"Find what?" she wanted to know, trying to sound annoyed and failing.

"The sign," Charlie replied, "that says: This Beach Belongs To Claire Littleton."

Another noise reached their ears and spared the young woman a response she couldn't give, because she didn't have anything to throw at him. She needed a second to identify the noise as laughter and the moment that realisation hit her Sawyer stepped out from between the trees, right behind Charlie, amusement glittering in his eyes and a grin on his face. Claire suppressed a shudder and held her baby a little closer; it was a dangerous grin. It was a grin that said 'I am not your friend'.

"Didn't hear much of your little love-talk," he said, "but Shorty's right. The beach ain't yours."

Now, this just wasn't fair. It was two against one, because Sawyer very obviously sided with Charlie and her Baby was no help. Even worse – she couldn't shake off the uncomfortable feeling that if Aaron had been able to side with anyone, right now, it wouldn't be her.

"This is none of your business, Sawyer."

"Yeah, that's just totally true," he admitted, much to her surprise. "I'm just wondering, you know, why you think you could give orders like you own the place. Do you think you're superior to him, so somethin' like that?"

An alarm started to ring deep inside her mind. Do not answer that question it said, but it was too late.

"After all he did everyone is superior to him!" she spat.

"Oho!" Sawyer laughed. "Everyone, huh? Even me?"

There you have it, the alarm said accusingly and gave up. Claire nodded, because her own words had left her little alternative. Fact was, that she didn't care much where Sawyer stood in the island ranks of morality, because she didn't care much for Sawyer. Aaron had finally stopped crying altogether at the sound of his voice.

"Well, then I hereby declare that Charlie has my, Sawyer's, permission to use this beach as much as he likes." He still grinned, possibly more than before, but then his grin was gone and the sudden lack of it scared her even more. She should have left the moment she'd seen Charlie sitting here. She should have walked by pretending not to have seen him.

"It you have a problem with that," Sawyer continued, "go and see if you can find someone who's interested." There was still humour in his voice, but underneath it there was something else, that made her want to run away. She had no friends here, she realised. Once, Charlie would have helped her, would have told Sawyer to piss off, maybe there would have been a fight. Now Charlie just sat there, behind Sawyer, and looked at her without a word. Sawyer and Charlie, she thought. Acting like they belonged together. It made no sense.

Sawyer should be hated by everyone, including Charlie. Charlie should have been hated by everyone, including Sawyer. But maybe that was the point, she thought. Maybe, when everyone's avoiding you, you have to take what you can get. Maybe sticking to someone you didn't like was still better than being all alone. But there still was something wrong with the picture. It might fit for Charlie who clung to every person who let him, but not for Sawyer. Sawyer didn't side with anyone.

So Sawyer just wanted to annoy her, and Charlie watched without comment, because if Sawyer hurt her he could spare the effort. That had to be it, the woman who did not own the beach decided, and she also decided to ignore the fact that Sawyer had used Charlie's name. Maybe he had run out of nicknames.

And then Sawyer turned to leave, but before he stepped back into the jungle he looked down on Charlie and Claire could not see his face as he asked: "You Okay?"

Charlie gave him a quick half-smile. "I'm fine." The other looked at him for another second, half a second too long, then he nodded and left. Claire's thoughts had come to a standstill. What the hell had she just seen?

"What was that about?"

Charlie looked at her questioningly.

"You and him, acting like friends," she explained. Were they trying to make fun of her?

"Well, why not?" he wanted to know.

"Because he's scum!"

"According to you, so am I." Charlie was smiling at her again, very sweetly, very Charlie-like. How someone with a smile like that could be such a bastard was beyond her. Just why did she have to run into all the jerks the island had to offer today?

Aaron was starting to cry again. She really had to sit down, and for a moment she even considered doing it right here, in front of Charlie, just to show him that he could not chase her away that easily. But than she remembered that that had never been his intention. So she decided to let him have this little victory and walk off herself, go back to the camp, to people who didn't tread her like she was nothing. Well, some of them did, but they had never adored her so she didn't care.

"You two really deserve each other," she hissed as she turned away, trying to make her retreat seem a little less like giving up, but she didn't get far before another person stepped out of the jungle a few meters away. Locke.

"What is going on here?" the hunter asked, staring at Charlie in a way that implied the knowledge that whatever _was_ going on, it was definitely his fault. Claire stopped and turned back around, to throw a triumphant glance in the junkie's direction. It looked like the battle wasn't over yet.

-

The situation was explained quickly: Claire wanted to spend some time with her child and Charlie would not leave them alone. Locke kept staring down at him, the way a father might be looking at his son who had disappointed him once again.

"Well?" he said.

Charlie only stared back and didn't seem very impressed.

"Are you going to leave, Charlie?" Locke continued when he was granted with no further reaction.

"I see no reason to," Charlie answered.

"Claire wants to be alone, Charlie." Locke sounded like he was talking to a five year old. Charlie only shrugged.

"So do I," he said. "And yet don't see either of you leave."

The wind that had stopped a minute ago came back, stronger than before and colder. Suddenly Locke was standing over Charlie, almost pinning him to the tree but not quite. Charlie looked up at him trough wide eyes and there was something on his face that wasn't fear.

There was a note in Locke's voice that was definitely threatening when he leaned down so his mouth was almost close to Charlie's ear and whispered: "You really should leave this place. Now."

Still, Charlie's voice was calm, collected, but he also spoke quietly when he answered.

"Why should I do that, Locke? You still haven't given me a reason." Their voices didn't carry to the place where Claire was standing.

There was a little pause before Locke's next words. "Because you have lost every right to be close to those who don't want you around when you tried to hurt the Baby, and right now that includes about every single person on this island." He spoke a little louder now, still quiet low but loud enough for Claire to hear everything he said. "And because I tell you to."

Charlie looked at him for a long moment and the way his eyes were locked on his own showed Locke that the threat in his voice was not lost on him. He already expected him to get up and leave any moment, until he spoke, in a normal voice that made sure Claire didn't miss a single word.

"I still can't see why I should listen to you," he said, coldly. "Your words have no meaning."

Locke's face darkened. His voice was quiet again, speaking only to Charlie, and his words were meant to hurt.

"It seems I have to remind you that you are not in the position to talk to me like that, Charlie. You are the one who lied." He leaned even closer. "I am the one Claire has chosen to protect her while you failed. I am the one she turns to for help, or company, while she usually refuses to look into your general direction. Because you don't deserve it." He leaned back a little so he could look into the other man's eyes and his gaze held no mercy. "You lost, Charlie," he said.

Charlie's smile was faint and dark. Somewhere behind Locke Claire tried to make out his word and couldn't.

"Yes, she doesn't trust me anymore," Locke heard. "Yes, she has chosen you over me. But as far as I know _your_ absence has never made Aaron cry." Somewhere along the way Charlie had learned how to hit where it hurt.

Locke didn't know if it was his choice of words or the way he said them, but suddenly he felt… not anger, simply the overwhelming urge to hit him, and he did. Hard. Time was running backward, back to that night in the waves, and he hit again. Behind him, Claire cried out in shock and surprise.

Finally Locke grabbed Charlie's shoulders and pulled him up, really pinning him against the tree this time. He weighed surprisingly little.

"Go away, Charlie," he commanded, quite friendly. "You are not wanted here."

Still Charlie refused to cooperate. The moment Locke let go of his shoulders he just slumped down again with a wince of pain, refusing to let his legs support the weight of his body. He wiped the blood out of his face and said nothing. Locke was reminded of a little boy who didn't want to go to school. Locke was getting annoyed.

When he pulled him up the next time he used only one hand to press him against the tree. The other was used to punch him in the stomach three, four times, and when Charlie slumped down to the ground the next time, he was gasping for air.

"Locke!" Claire screamed. "That's enough!"

"I decide when it is enough," Locke hissed under his breath, but stopped anyway. He wished the baby would stop crying.

"Hey," Charlie gasped suddenly. "You know, if you beat me down like this, it really won't make it easier for me to walk off." And he laughed a little. Claire fell silent.

"So. You are going to leave then?" Locke asked, just to make sure, and because he couldn't see what was so funny. The younger man grimaced.

"That's not what I said." Locke would have it not longer.

Charlie fell silent when he kicked him into the rips, a small victory at least. But Claire stared screaming at him again, reminding him that he couldn't go too far, while she was watching. Last time the situation had been different, after all.

"Why are you doing this?" the young mother wanted to know, holding her crying baby close. At least she was not angry, only shocked and confused. Anger might come later. Locke answered her question while he dragged Charlie past her, towards the water.

"He has to learn where his place is," was all the explanation he had to offer. Claire stared at him through wide eyes, and then she stared past him. Had he followed her gaze he would have seen the two men that were running toward them. So he only heard Jack's voice, which he paid no attention to, and was taken by surprise when someone threw himself against his body, tearing him off Charlie and to the ground, and by the fist connecting with his face.

Jack's voice again. "Sawyer! Stop it!" But Sawyer hit another time and then once more, and even after he stopped he remained sitting on Locke's chest, making it hard for him to breath. Behind him, Jack was kneeling beside Charlie, who was still lying on the ground. They where talking quietly and Jack was carefully running his hand's over Charlie's ribs, making him wince. Finally he got up and came over to pull Sawyer off of the hunter.

"Take him to the hatch," he commanded, and Locke wasn't sure if there was the doctor speaking, or the leader. "I need to have a closer look at his injuries." Ah, the doctor.

Other people arrived to stand around them and watch the show. Stranded on an island without TV, they hat to get entertainment where they could find it. Judging from the look on his face, Sawyer was still furious, but Jack was angry as well, and that anger was directed at Locke, who didn't understand.

So Jack demanded to know what the hell he was thinking and Locke explained what should have been obvious: That Charlie would not leave Claire and her baby alone and he had stepped it to defend her against him. Jack got even more angry. What had Charlie done to Claire that made him deserve another beating? Had he insulted her in any way, tried to kill her with looks, possibly thrown sand in her direction? This was the leader speaking and Locke felt anger rising inside of him, for Jack apparently refused to see the ex-musician as a treat to anyone. Hadn't he already proved to everyone what he was capable of doing? The others watched with curiosity and, in Claire's case, with a sort of almost-guilty worry.

Meanwhile Sawyer had walked over to Charlie and knelt own beside him. Locke wasn't the only one who watched in confusion when Charlie wrapped his arms around Sawyer's neck and the taller am lifted him up like a child. Later Lock would curse himself for not noticing the makeshift splint under Charlie's far too wide jeans. Right now he only noticed how everyone was staring at him when Jack told them that Charlie had broken his legs by falling off a cliff four days before and could not have walked away if he wanted to. For the second time in too few days John Locke felt like an idiot and the glances the bystanders shot him were not friendly.

Claire was the first one to walk away.

-

Sawyer had always been strong and if possible had gotten even stronger since living in the wild, but while Charlie felt like a stick-figure in his arms he could carry a grown – if not very tall – man only so far before he needed a break. It was then, sitting in the shadow of the jungle with no-one else around, that Charlie told Sawyer what he would allow only him to know, because Sawyer understood pain, and he understood darkness. Sawyer had asked why Locke had beaten him like that and Charlie had answered: "Because I wanted him to." Sawyer thought about it.

"To make him feel like the last asshole alive?" he finally suggested, making the other man laugh a little through clenched teeth, because he was quite obvious in pain.

"I have little hope for that." He looked up at Sawyer from where he was sitting. "Nope, but everyone else will think he is."

"And that's worth it?" Sawyer wondered, getting no response but knowing the answer anyway. Maybe, he thought, he had underestimated how deeply being shunned by everyone had affected the vulnerable young man, for apparently the part he'd played in Sawyer's con had done little to lessen the hurt. But then again it didn't really surprise him that Charlie would go this far – he knew it, after all, this need to get back at someone, and he knew the dark places it could lead to. Sawyer had spent half his life getting back at the world.

They said nothing else for the rest of the way.

-End

May 7, 2006

Now, wasn't that just bloody awful? I promised someone to upload it so they could read it if they want to, but in a few days it will probably be gone. It was far too long anyway. I only wrote it now but had it planned for about a month, and it was supposed to be much shorter. I never thought I could find so many words for nothing.


End file.
